


Regale

by arixng



Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Canon Universe, Excuse to write about Hibari in kimonos and yukatas, M/M, Sex, Violence, slightly (?) dark and twisted Dino
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:07:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arixng/pseuds/arixng
Summary: A beautiful sight would be to witness the kimono worn when he hunts and corners his prey, the fabric light as it dances together with the shapes and shadows of elegance and grace. The white and gold kiku scattered on black complements the regal beauty of its owner all too well.Four times Hibari wore Dino's presents and left him breathless
Relationships: Dino/Hibari Kyouya
Comments: 3
Kudos: 52





	Regale

_ Black _

The first present was almost rejected. 

It was neatly folded inside a thick velvet box with gold linings engraved for the deluxe flavor. Anyone who laid their eyes on it would think it was meant for the wealthiest apex hotshots in society - someone fit for the picture of affluence and beauty. Of course, the recipient fulfills that standard. With piercing onyx orbs, skin of the most exquisite porcelain, and silky raven locks that never fails to catch one’s breath when hit by the moonlight, the black kimono served to highlight each delicate looking feature of the man who would don it. 

The man, however, was nothing but delicate. 

Those pretty lips were known for spouting the most biting remarks and blood-curling threats. And if one dares to displease him, said threats will not remain empty. A beautiful sight would be to witness the kimono worn when he hunts and corners his prey, the fabric light as it dances together with the shapes and shadows of elegance and grace. The white and gold  _ kiku _ scattered on black complements the regal beauty of its owner all too well. 

Don Cavallone had put a lot of thought in his present. Negotiating with one of Milan’s most famous couturiers, the young don made sure that every detail would fit his inamorato’s taste and likings. From the shades and textures and the symbolisms, Dino chose to be meticulous for  _ his  _ Kyouya. 

Thus, it left the blonde a little bit taken aback when his lover merely raised a brow at his present and said he didn’t need it.

He was entering Kyouya’s solitary base, the interior styled traditionally according to its owner’s preferences. Accompanied by Kyouya’s trusted second-in-command, he notices the shadows of the blush-hued skies filtering through the shoji of each room, signalling the nearing dusk. The day was almost ending. 

Dino, who was currently in an elevated mood, had just arrived from his meeting at the Cavallone estate. Today was Kyouya’s 26th birthday and he had done everything in order to spend the remaining hours of the day -- or rather evening-- with him. Waking up alone had dampened his morning with disappointment; thus, he would make sure that the day ended with the love of his life in his arms. 

The shoji slides open and he is immediately greeted by the blunt end of a tonfa inches away from his neck and his partner’s predatory smirk. Dino beamed. “You knew I was near.”

Kyouya tilted his head. “The padding of your feet against the wood wasn’t exactly well muted, Cavallone.” 

Carefully lowering the weapon from his neck, the don stepped forward to press his lips against his lover’s, impatience exuding from the way he steals a taste in every corner of his mouth until the younger pushes him away. In the middle of their moment of intimacy, Kusakabe Tetsuya places a large box near Dino’s feet by the entrance and shuts the door close for their privacy. Slipping a hand around Vongola cloud’s waist, Dino lowers to kiss the pale neck and breathes in the soothing scent of fresh spring and green tea. “Happy birthday,  _ mi amore. _ ”

Snorting at his partner’s sentimentality, Kyouya finally pays attention to the box by their feet. “And what might that be?” He questions with a hint of curiosity in his tone. Dino steals one last peck on the smooth flesh of his neck before he crouches to pick up the item in question.  _ “My little present”  _ was an understatement. 

Moving toward the low table at the center, Dino places the box on the center and faces it towards the other man’s direction. Since Kyouya wasn’t making any suggestion to open the present himself, Dino unravels the silky red ribbons artfully tied together and lifts the velvet top. Inside was the black garment folded cleanly. The golden hand-embroidered  _ kikus _ glittered from the light outside the engawa. Delicately lifting the kimono from its box, Dino stands to reveal its full length.

“Do you like it?” Dino asks with a hopeful glow in his eye.

Expression remaining blank and unreadable, Hibari gives the garment a once over, long dark lashes displayed as he lowers his gaze. With a voice of disinterest, he offers his judgement “I don’t need it.” 

Dino stares incredulously. “E-eh?” He looks down at the kimono in his hands to find any faults that could warrant such a comment. “You don’t like it, Kyouya?”

“I said no such thing.” He defends coolly. “But I also have no need for such lavish clothing that may end up tattered in a fight. And I would prefer something authentic.”

Immediately understanding his companion’s sentiment, Dino flashes a toothy grin. “Alright then -I’ll coordinate with Japan’s finest soon.” He’ll still take this as a win. “I’d like to give Kyouya only the best of the best.” 

The corners of the smaller man’s lips show the slightest raise, one that was enough to be a smile of approval. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.” 

Getting up on his two legs, Kyouya stands in front of the other and slowly unfastens his obi; dark eyes were expressive of a looming hunger and desire augmented by the low growl from his lips. The cotton sash falls on the tatami, followed by the dark grey yukata it holds together. The fair expanse of skin is accented with pink from the outside, slim lines highlighted by the dusk shadows. The slim body standing proudly was painted with fresh reds and purples here and there to illustrate a recent battle he won triumphantly. 

Kyouya turned to face the engawa, strong back facing the don with arms slightly raised to his sides. With care, Dino slides each arm into its respective sleeves, fingers not shy at leaving a light caress on skin each moment he could. He slides the cloth over his shoulders and pulls the ends together to the front to meet and wrap left over right. To finish his work, Dino encircles a ruby-colored obi around his waist and ties the ends into the proper art he eagerly learned to achieve. 

Stepping backwards to admire the art that was Kyouya himself, a deep sigh is all he could release when he runs out of words for praises to shower. “Looks like I made a great choice.” 

Kyouya pulls an impish little grin and cranes his head down to take in the intricate details and patterns. For his exceptional tastes in presents, perhaps he will commend his lover tonight in bed. 

.

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.

.

  
  


_ Violet _

Don Garza was not one to hold humble parties. With a grand estate that could build a ballroom for a whole town, it was meant to be the go-to for the mafia’s large-scale conventions. Reminiscent of the Victorian years, pillars of marble lined the grandiose hall, glistening with the golden warmth of the hand-crafted chandeliers hung low from the ceiling. Repeating spirals of golden floral contrasted against the red carpets that clothed the floor. Intricate mixes of gold and bronze were ornamented and bordered tastefully on the cream walls and ceiling, blending exquisitely with paintings depicting the renaissance. As the vast doors were opened for the incoming guests, each arriving through their own chauffeurs on the cobbled driveway, Don Garza could not help the bubbling pride with each look of awe and esteem. The surprise from both the vieux and the nouveau riche had always been the fuel to his ego. 

Don Vongola was not one to feel comfortable in such grandiose events. Sitting at the highest seat of their world, he was invited to practically everything and has seen  _ everything _ . With a cordial smile and a gentle look in his eyes, Don Vongola arrived everywhere with an aura of goodwill and harmony. Beneath that demeanor, however, is a young man exhausted by the weight of the world and the blood in his hands. For him, to bask in these settings with full comfort meant a silent agreement with the ideologies and tradition of the cruel and avaricious. Thus, his senses are alert as he steps on the lush carpets and exchanges pleasantries with the other dons and guests. 

Aggravating his stress is the fact that his own guardians have him acting as the exhausted babysitter constantly on the lookout in case of any heated disagreements or broken ceramic. While his own right hand was standing rigid beside him the whole time, the rest had scattered about for food and whatnot. 

For this evening, there was one particular guardian he was concerned about. A phone call from a week ago had him simultaneously proud and on edge for the past few days. The feeling has returned and elevated tenfold at this moment --his collar felt a little too constricting. Tonight will be their first appearance, after all. 

Don Vongola and Don Garza had just exchanged greetings and small talk as soon as they found each other amidst the crowd. While the young don was busy noticing the most trivial things such as his greying roots and the multiple rings adorning his aged fingers, the noise of the crowd is washed away by gasps, hushes, and silent murmurs. 

“At last, they have arrived,” mutters the don beside him. 

Don Vongola turns his head toward the entrance where everyone was facing, looking for the pair he was awaiting the whole evening. Appearing from the entrance was Don Cavallone, golden hair radiating a striking glow and white suit trimming a strong silhouette, an image akin to royalty complementing the background. At his side is the Vongola’s cloud, posture emanating an air of breathtaking grace. Garbed in a deep violet kimono held together with a golden obi, he contrasted every aspect of his surroundings yet stood dignified and shameless. Silver clouds swirled around in patterns, appearing to float eerily with each step and sway of the fabric. Small peonies, a symbol of nobility and everlasting beauty, were embroidered on the golden sash. While Don Cavallone wore a smile as bright as the sun, the man who had a firm grip on his arm wore a frown coupled with a paralyzing gaze. 

As Don Cavallone met eyes with Don Vongola, his face lit up and the twinkle in his eye could not be missed even from afar. While they headed to his direction, all the heads in the room followed the pair that blazed an air of overwhelming power. With the newly engaged couple, the mafia world has founded a new force to be reckoned with. 

“Yo, Tsuna!” Greeted the blonde, wrapping his arms around his pseudo brother for a warm embrace. The man was sparkling and his eyes crinkled with an ease Tsuna hadn’t seen during their meeting a few months ago. Turning, Tsuna nodded his head to acknowledge his own guardian. “Good evening, Hibari-san!” Kyouya nodded in return, hand falling to his side from his partner’s arm. By his side, Tsuna could sense Gokudera Hayato gritting his teeth at the cloud’s poor attitude. Dino offered his hand to shake Don Garza’s then proceeded to place a kiss on the ringed hand of his tall wife who had just arrived beside him. 

“We’re delighted to be invited to your luxurious abode, Don Garza.” Dino praised, eyes scanning the ballroom with fondness. The art of it all was suiting his tastes. 

“Well, we’re delighted to be in the presence of such a..let me say,  _ sensational  _ couple.” The elderly man said with a cheeky grin on his face. Tsuna thought over his chosen word, agreeing despite the foreboding feeling in his gut. His older brother, renowned boss of the third largest family who flourished it from its collapsing state, and his own guardian, notorious for his insatiable lust for blood and command of his own intelligence unit...upon hearing of their union, Don Vongola could not push away the sense of fear; fear for whoever would dare to lay a hand on each of them or get in their way. Anyone who denies their union will be eradicated. The same goes for those who will stage a vendetta for their personal glory. 

It was truly frightening, Tsuna reckoned. When the news of their engagement had spread, outside information revealed the growing agitation in other families. Tsuna couldn’t blame them. His self-reassurance came in the fact of the alliance between Vongola and Cavallone, and having Kyouya as his guardian. 

“So when will we be expecting a wedding?” says signora Garza with excitement in her tone. Both Tsuna and Dino noticed the slight tension in Kyouya’s stance, which was invisible to those who were unaccustomed to his mannerisms. While Kyouya was looking like he’d rather be somewhere else, Dino answered for both of them and subtly placed a hand behind his partner’s back to calm him down. 

“Our families have yet to meet up and decide on a date. But rest assured, we will be sending an invite to both of you.” 

Pleased by his response, Don Garza, who was aware of the cloud guardian’s temper, was ending their short chit chat and convincing them to help themselves with some wine and food before excusing himself. As the host and his wife left, Tsuna sighed and loosened his tie a bit. 

“You should come visit us, Dino-san. The women are excited and they’d like to throw a small party for the two of you --IF you’d agree, Hibari-san!” Tsuna suggested, immediately catching himself lest he becomes the object of Kyouya’s scrutinizing glare. The blonde laughed, eagerly accepting the invite. They would talk about their schedules and a possible date for their wedding after, he thought in his head. 

Rolling his eyes, Kyouya deemed it appropriate to leave. Dismissing the exchange, he stood right before Vongola’s sky, the daunting air of his person sending a shiver up his spine. 

Tsuna caught the cold-blooded gleam in his sharp eyes before he was leaning close for only his ears to hear. Kyouya spoke low but clear. 

“The Fazio’s have been taken care of.”

Just like that, the jovial atmosphere of the party had been shrouded with unease. A cruel smirk graces Kyouya’s lips before he disappears to solitude like a ghost. The soft silk of a kimono brushing fleetingly against the back of Tsuna’s hand served as the proof of what was announced. A grim expression looms on Cavallone’s face, knowing exactly what was spoken. Don Vongola shuts his eyes and takes a long deep breath. 

_ Anyone who denies their union will be eradicated.  _

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_ Red _

When Kyouya wears red, the lust and desire pooling in Dino’s core is a guaranteed response. So when the former is standing by the edge of the pool in his red summer yukata, with the silk flowing and hair tousled by the wind, Dino could not help keep his eyes from relishing the sight before him. 

Long and slim legs were finally unobscured by a robe that reached mid-knee, the pale skin appearing to shimmer against the reflection of the sun-lit water. Languidly, he stretched a leg to the water and dipped the surface with his toes, eyes watching the calm being disrupted. Rising from the bench he had been lounging on, Dino walks towards his lover and cups the smooth flesh of his cheek. Looking pleased, Kyouya leaned towards his touch, resembling a cat spoiled with affection. 

“You’re in a good mood today.” Dino chuckles. He cranes his neck to pepper kisses on his cheek and jaw. A sound likened to a purr leaves his partner’s lips. “Perhaps.” He drawls. The blonde fingers the silk on his shoulder, digits slowly moving closer to his neck and moving under the cloth to feel the bare skin it hid. The yukata softly falls to reveal an enticing shoulder begging to be bitten. Taking advantage of his lover’s lack of objections, Dino mouths on the junction of his neck, pressing soft lips on soft skin, making the tiniest suctions that were enough to leave blooming marks stark against fair flesh. Amused, Kyouya releases a quiet sigh and tangles his fingers within smooth golden locks. Without warning, the sash around Kyouya’s waist is unfastened and slips its way down to the pool, the ends of his yukata draping loosely over his body. Eyes traveling downward, a flicker of surprise flashes in Dino’s eyes and an inviting smile graces Kyouya’s face. 

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Dino groans. His fingers skim Kyouya’s bare chest and travel south, stopping right before his unclothed groin. Without a hint of shame, Kyouya wraps his arms around Dino’s neck and shifts closer to press their bodies together, his stirring cock thrusting against the straining tent outlined underneath the other man’s pants. The pressure gets to Dino’s head, arousal clouding his senses until all he can think of is  _ Kyouya, Kyouya, Kyouya.  _

Before the don’s fingers could wrap around Kyouya’s arousal, a sinful chuckle rings in Dino’s ears. And with a playful lick of lips, Kyouya tightens his hold on the other and throws his weight backwards to the water, sending him and his love tangled and sinking beneath the serene blue. 

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_ White _

There was something about the way Don Buccio’s eyes would travel down to the ring on his finger, the symbol of power and burden carved and shaped into a golden band. And then there was something about the way Don Volta’s brows would twitch and crease when Dino was straightforward with his objections and reasonings. Don Colombo, sitting right beside Don Volta, was trying a futile attempt at hiding his discomfort, sweat trickling down his forehead and collar a bit damp. A number of their men surrounded the room, standing firm behind their own leaders. They had insisted on bringing them along in the room, but Dino had ordered that they limit their number to five per boss. The Cavallone boss himself, however, commenced the meeting with no one by his side. 

“Don Volta, I understand your sentiments. But I stand my ground that the risks placed on my family outweigh the costs.” The pacifying smile was plastered on his face. For those unfamiliar with his true nature, it was difficult to tell whether it was genuine or not. Knuckles turning white, Don Volta was clenching his fists to suppress his impatience and anger. A hand from the don beside him lands on his thigh, an effort to calm his ally; perhaps it doubled as an effort to remind him of their proposal and the need to win against this battle of conviction. 

Leaning back on his seat, Dino breathed out a deep sigh and refrained from scanning his guests further across the table from the host’s position. Tonight was an interesting discussion and interestingly, he was in a pleasant mood. Dragging the conversation was tempting, prying further until one loses their temper and breaks. Always the winner in these games, Dino secretly prided himself in the art of manipulation; wrapping desperate people around his finger was simple to do. When facing such men with rotten cores and despicable ambitions, Dino found it difficult to hold back and keep his unbridled amusement in check. 

Don Buccio coughs and clears his throat. The hand of his right-hand standing behind him jerks right beside his coat pocket. 

“Must I say, I was not expecting you to muse this long, Don Cavallone. I thought our objectives were quite on the same page.”

Dino quirks an eyebrow at the assumption. “Oh, I am very much done musing over this, Don Buccio. While I am against the Russo family’s methods of assimilation, I don’t agree to joining any of you.” He grins, crossing his legs under the table and resting his head on his palm. Oh, how he inwardly enjoyed watching these men gritting their teeth and at the edge of their seats. 

“We assure you, Don, that we will not put your family at risk and that we shall provide aid if such a situation transpires!” says Don Colombo, forehead wrinkling with frustration.

The smile on the blonde’s face shifts to an offended scowl, amber eyes piercing with aversion. “I thought I had made my answer clear. I will not join your party. And there will be no need for such  _ aid  _ as your families will most likely be wiped out before mine.” 

Gawking, Don Volta slams his fists on the table, his chair falling backward as he stands abruptly. “Y-you-!” His wine glass topples over the table and its contents spill all over wood. Don Colombo is alarmed while Don Buccio raises a ringed hand. His right-hand pulls a gun from his coat, aimed right at the perfectly unbothered host. 

“We’ve given you ample time, Cavallone. Don’t think we’d let you leave this room alive-!” 

An enraged Don Buccio is cut off by a deafening slam. A lone figure stands by the entrance, brandishing a pair of steel weapons already tainted by gore. The crimson contrasts starkly with his whole appearance, porcelain skin and white yukata reaching just below his knees. From afar he looked lithe, delicate,  _ ethereal;  _ but the glint in his eyes and the cruel sneer of his lips spoke of his intent; he came to purge and wreak havoc. The red spider lilies on his white robe stood stark forebodingly. 

The playful smile people were accustomed to seeing on the blonde’s face returns, eyes softening around the edges like a man in love. 

“Done?” The stranger drawls, moving light on his bare feet like a ghost. 

Dino slouches further on his chair, lax as if a gun wasn’t aimed at him and three families were now conspiring against him. From his seat, Don Volto was trembling from fear or rage -- he couldn’t decide it himself. Rage for Cavallone’s lack of dread and concern of what should befall him, and fear for the unknown that the white man approaching was about to unfold. 

“You can play all you want now, Kyouya.” 

His voice was mellifluous like honey, the tinges of innocence in his instruction a great disparity with the hooked end of a tonfa slicing through the neck of the man behind Don Volta. 

Don Volta screams. 

The untrained eyes could not follow the swift movements of a man starving for blood-shed. He killed with an impossible grace, the act of murder turning into an art form. Long pale legs were elongated to force a man to his knees, feet hooked by the bleeding neck to balance himself as he bends backward to evade a bullet through the skull. Quickly, he pounces forward with his weapons now rowed with thorns, swiping through a suited chest with no ounce of mercy. With a small bare foot, he kicks away the gun in a hand like it was nothing and sends another man on the ground to join his dying family. Soon, the strained expression in Don Volta’s face fades away. 

Dino remains on his seat through it all, watching with a gratified expression the same way one would watch a grand opera. Don Buccio, terrified by the beast before him, still could not tear his eyes away. With a blink of an eye, Don Colombo is struggling to prop himself up on the table as he gurgles with his own blood. 

The room is drowning with filth, the stench of death heavy in the air. The immaculate white yukata is splattered with the remnants of a life once lived. From Don Buccio’s eyes, he was the god of death, disguised in the angel’s robe, brought to earth to drain life with a wicked smile and a lascivious lick of lips. When death was turning his way, he decided to stay on his seat, finding it futile to stay defensive and waited for the spiked end of a tonfa to strike his middle. The air is knocked out of him, splatters of blood joining the exhale. 

“Too excited, Kyouya.” Through hooded eyes, the dying don watches as Dino finally stands from his chair. Approaching his blood-soaked companion, he wraps him around in a lover’s embrace and captures his rosy red lips, the metallic taste heady in his system. The smaller man violently fists his suit to crash their bodies close, sensually rocks his body against the other, and deepens the kiss which quickly turns wild and heated. 

While Don Buccio was fighting to breathe, Don Cavallone and his  _ whore  _ were entangled in their moment of rapture. The white-clad man was pushed to lie on the table, the robe untied to reveal his naked body. Legs wrapped around the blonde in wanton fervor. Soon, the room echoes of carnal voracity, eager moans against lewd wetness. 

Even in death, Don Buccio faces mockery. Defilement, sin, everything corrupt and immoral, yet he is not the triumphant player. During his last breaths, Don Cavallone remains the untouchable victor, stripping away dignity from one’s death as he fucks his lover in the midst of ruin. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I was able to write them in character. I wanna write some more and I would love to hear your ideas or headcanons. 
> 
> I recently wrote a fluff d18 fic so do check it out!


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